Parked

Woke up by dawn again, rushed to the beach, watched the sea labouring under a brooding sky, the pale pink tinge of sunrise appearing and then disappearing, a red sun being gobbled up by grey clouds, little rafts filled with fishermen being rocked among the stern waves, the wind, the hint of moisture in the air, the salty smell, the smell of fish, the last smells of the sea. I ran in the rain, the sky's brief sneezing, and then the golden rays of the first morning sun arrived. Perhaps I shall never walk those streets again.

Our return journey was comfortable, despite the freezing wind on the train.